


Meadowsweet and Chicory

by JustDrinkTea



Series: Original Works [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantasy, M/M, Magic, Panic, Secrets, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 22:54:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9685502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustDrinkTea/pseuds/JustDrinkTea
Summary: A cold hand touching his cheek.An even colder shiver down his back.A voice that was near, but echoed as though it were far in the distance. “Septimu….” came the whisper. Lovely like bells, but sending terror through his body. Again, but now a shout. Far away. “Septimus!”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first day of NANOWRIMO this past November. Didn't make it very far, unfortunately, but I still hold these characters in a special place.

A cold hand touching his cheek. 

An even colder shiver down his back.

A voice that was near, but echoed as though it were far in the distance. “Septimu….” came the whisper. Lovely like bells, but sending terror through his body. Again, but now a shout. Far away. “Septimus!”

 

Septimus threw himself up to sit. He was warm and safe here. The mattress was comfortable and the clean sheets had pooled themselves in his lap when he moved. And yet, sickly sweat beaded at his forehead, and his body felt as though he’d been struck too many times.

Forcing his next exhale to release slowly, he gathered his thoughts. This was not the first time a dream like this had come. They had been more common when he had been younger-- near constant for the first couple of years he lived in the swamp. No-- he told himself, as he always had-- there was no danger here. As he calmed, his awareness slowly increased. 

He could feel his hair plastered against the back of his neck, his naked back.

Julian still lay beside him on the bed; and though his back was to Septimus, the audible steadiness of his breath gave way to the fact that he continued to sleep. Gently as he could, Septimus allowed his hand to brush against Julian’s shoulder; just to reassure himself. 

Outside the wind howled, and the shack creaked as though it were to give way. As it always did. 

The witch was more than content to ignore it until--

“Septimus….”

He froze. His breathing stopped. 

The voice came again. It was the same that plagued his dreams: the voice of a woman. Too sweet and too sour all at the same time. Septimus could nearly feel it in his bones. It was as if the voice was surrounding him…. It was searching for him. 

In a panic, he hall but threw himself from the bed. He hadn’t even bothered to notice if he’d disturbed the other members of the bed-- forgetting them entirely, in fact, as he ran down the stairs leading up to the loft.

Septimus did not remember taking the last few steps-- nor did he remember making the turn into his herb room. As if his mind had jumped through time, the next moment he was fully aware, he was digging through his cupboards.   
He did not have all the ingredients he needed.

He was fully aware of this. But what he had was going to have to do for the time being. It had to.

Thin, pale, shaking hands dug deep into his stores. He threw what he needed onto the table behind him, and pushed aside what he didn’t need, vaguely aware that at least two of his jars had fallen, and broken on the wood planks below.

There was one vital ingredient still missing. His mind was racing, and anxiety rose up in his chest. It felt as though the stress was going to crush his heart if he was not soon successful. He fought with his own thoughts, trying to convince himself that he knew he had it, and trying to convince himself that he knew he did not. 

But then, finally, in the back of the furthest cupboard he found what he’d been looking for. Septimus felt his entire body seize with relief as he closed his fingers around the jar. He pulled it free and blew the dust free from the corked top digging into it with his teeth and prying it open. 

The chicory root was had been ground down long ago, but still released a strong smell-- woody and nutty. Septimus breathed it in deeply, as though trying to settle the scent into his bones. 

If only.

The bowl still lay on the altar from its last use. In his rush, Septimus dumped the ashy remains onto the floor and began to fill the bowl with the herbs and roots he’d unearthed just a moment ago. Sand lined the bottom, and the chicory on top so that it would be the first to burn.

He snapped his right hand, producing a small flame at the tip of his finger, and held it to the herbs until they began to smoke and burn. 

Finally, when he was sure it would continue without feeding more of the flame to it, he pulled back his hand, the flame now extinguished. From the table he grabbed a leather tie that had previously been used to bind sticks of myrrh, and used now to tie his hair back from his face. Many of his curls fell back to his face, but he paid them little mind.

With his left hand now, he pulled at the amulet around his neck. The chain snapped painfully against his skin, and pieces fell to the floor to join the rest of his mess.

Septimus hadn’t noticed he had been holding his breath until he felt it release when he dropped the amulet to join the burning herbs. Shaking harder now, he dropped to his knees. His hands clasped together desperately, and he pressed his fists against his forehead.

He curled in on himself, using all his energy to charge the spell, pouring all his will into the chicory that was slowly smoking itself to ash.  
Suddenly, his concentration was shattered. 

A voice, behind him: “Septimus?”

Septimus spun ‘round quickly, the movement nearly knocking himself over. He scrambled back a couple of paces like an animal on the defensive. 

Julian took a careful step back himself, his hands raised. The worry was apparent in his features-- his brows deeply furrowed and a frown replacing the kind smile that Septimus had come to adore so well. “Septimus,” he repeated, slower now. There was a caution in his voice that Septimus didn’t care for. “What happened?”

Septimus hesitated before he spoke. He swallowed hard, eyes dashing back to the altar next to him as though afraid it might have disappeared when his concentration did. “...nothing,” he said finally. His voice was rough, making even himself flinch.

“This doesn’t look like nothing.”

Septimus knew what it looked like. He was on the floor, his hair only half pulled back, and entirely a mess. He could feel the sweat running against his skin, and knew that though the tremors had calmed, they had not completely left his limbs. “A nightmare,” he tried. His eyes followed Julian’s as they surveyed the chaos he’d left on the floor, the still-open and disorganized cupboards. Finally they ended at the altar. Septimus amended his explanation. “...a simple protective charm.” 

The frown on Julian’s face deepened. “Should I be worried?” he asked. His voice was deep, relaxed. It calmed Septimus a fraction, and he righted himself to sit upright.

“Of course not,” came the reply, a forced grin on his face. “It’s the same kind of charm I’ve always--”

“Not about that.” Julian stared hard at the witch. “About you.” 

The grin dropped immediately from his face and his gaze shifted away from Julian; ashamed that he would even try to play the situation off in his current state. “Don’t…” he pulled his feet in closer to his body, watching as his heels dragged through the ash spread out on the wood. “Don’t worry about me. Just a little shaken, is all.” He tried to laugh, but all he was able to manage was a weak chuckle.

“Go back to bed,” Septimus said, eyes meeting Julian’s again. “I’ll follow once I’ve finished.”

Julian showed his hesitation before he voiced it, tongue darting out against his lips nervously, his foot shuffling forward. He opened his mouth to speak, but Septimus beat him before he found the words. 

“Go,” he urged, not unkindly. 

A beat of silence passed between them before Julian finally nodded. “Take your time,” he said, though he wished to say hurry.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking it out! Please take a look at my other works if you enjoyed this one.  
> \-----  
> Find me @[Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/firemandamen) and [tumblr](http://www.justdrinktea.tumblr.com)!


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